


The Warrior and His Steed

by Cake_isnt_pie_sam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!verse, Gen, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, Ramble on, lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1608323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cake_isnt_pie_sam/pseuds/Cake_isnt_pie_sam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a man and a car in a field.<br/>From 500 feet, you can see the car’s smoke, billowing from under the hood. The car is from the sixties; the man wears a black leather jacket, the same faded color as the car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warrior and His Steed

**Author's Note:**

> (I do not own Supernatural or Dean Winchester. Constructive criticism is encouraged!)

The Warrior and His Steed

                There is a man and a car in a field.

               From 500 feet, you can see the car’s smoke, billowing from under the hood. The car is from the sixties; the man wears a black leather jacket, the same faded color as the car.

_Leaves are falling all around, It's time I was on my way.  
Thanks to you, I'm much obliged for such a pleasant stay._

               From 150 feet, you can hear the music still playing on an old cassette. You can see the man’s blood-soaked t-shirt and his dirty blonde hair.

_But now it's time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way.  
For now I smell the rain, and with it pain, and it's headed my way._

               From 75 feet, you can see the dirt on the man’s face. The afternoon sun glints off of his gun, lying in the grass beside him. The car’s trunk is dented.

_Got no time to for spreadin' roots, The time has come to be gone.  
And to our health we drank a thousand times, it's time to Ramble On._

                From 10 feet, you can hear the sizzling inside the burned up engine, the hissing from the gaskets. You can smell the blood and see that the man’s chest isn’t lifting. His hand is balled into a fist and his eyes are closed.

_Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear.  
How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air._

                From 2 feet, you can see the stubble along his jawline, the flask in his jacket raising the surface. The engine is slightly clicking. There’s a leak; it smells of gasoline. In his hand, a lighter; a note inside his other:

I did what I could and it wasn’t enough. There’s no one else around, but in case someone reads this…I am Dean Winchester. I tried to stop the apocalypse. If you’re reading this note, it means I was successful. Thirty-two years of age, no living relatives. No spouse, no children. Not sure what day it is, but it’s not that important. Got a car and a gun to my name and a meeting to get to with some important people. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a beer to acquire.

\--DW

                With a flick of a thumb on silver, the man goes up in flame. The black on his face makes him look like a warrior. In the flames, a piece of metal on string melts against the man’s boot, a trinket from years past. The gun melts into the dirt.

               A warrior’s life—a hunter's funeral.

_Ramble On, And now's the time, the time is now, to sing my song._


End file.
